Cornerstone
by Courbeau
Summary: Booth gets sucked into a meeting at the Hoover building just when he and Bones are going to celebrate solving another case. Companion to Missing Piece.


Seeley Booth anxiously checked his watch again, bringing his wrist up to his navel and glancing down at the shiny face.

He sighed.

Cullen droned on.

The pad of yellow paper in front of Booth had notes taken meticulously in his block writing, but as the words and letters progressed down the page, they became less attentive and detailed. Booth's foot vibrated under the table and his fingers played with the end of his tie in a never-ending, non-sensical pattern.

It was already 9:18.

The emergency mandatory debriefing meeting the Director had called had lasted over three hours. And Booth was supposed to be with Bones; did Cullen not realize that his agents had plans for the first Friday after finishing a long, tough case?

Any minute now, it would be over. That's what kept Booth waiting in silence. _Any_ minute.

As Cullen buzzed on about locations and times and injury count and expenses and procedure, Booth flipped his phone open and stared at the blank screen. Bones hadn't called. Maybe she had gone home already? Maybe she was mad at him.

Oh, god.

She was probably furious at him for not calling.

"...and I'll see you all on Monday morning, somewhat bright and early. Now get out of my building." The stillness was shattered in an instant as the all the agents but one moved suddenly to the door in an effort to be the first out. "Get going, Booth. I thought you had _plans_."

Cullen was stacking some papers and sorting through folders quickly as Booth finally jumped into action, caught off guard by his boss' dismissal. Cullen laughed at Booth's slight start.

"Yes, sir." A grin spilt his face and he rose from his seat, sweeping the chair back under the table and taking off out the door into the deserted hallway. Booth's muffled footfalls thumped towards his office hurriedly, and he flung the door open. That was the starting gun to his race; the race to get out the door and to Bones in record time. As the metaphorical pistol smoked quietly after its loud, startling discharge, Booth dashed around his office, grabbing his dark suit jacket and sliding into it. He made sure his gun holstered, and he had his badge and cell phone. Oh, and his chip.

A flicker of guilt passed over his features as he snatched up the half-done folder of paperwork on the case they had just finished. Before his surgery, he had had a knack for finishing paperwork so quickly that it was amazing that anyone else could read it, let alone himself. Since his return more than six months ago, he had been meticulous with the paper trails he left; everything had to be in order and completed. And legible.

Casting his coffee-brown eyes over his office, he turned on his heel and took the stairs instead on the elevator, racing at top speed through the spookily silent FBI building.

The SUV beeped and flashed upon his arrival, and he slid into the front seat smoothly, slipping the key into the ignition. He tore out of the empty parkade, wheels squealing. The echoes bounced around the cavernous space, making everything seem more desolate after he was gone.

Booth sped through the night and checked his phone again.

Should he phone her? Or would she be sleeping?

Sighing, he decided not to phone, but to check the Jeffersonian to see if she was still there, slaving over some fifty year unidentified skeleton that whispered to her. The SUV was navigated expertly through the streets of Washington and Booth drew closer to the Lab every second.

She had probably gone home when he hadn't shown up with Thai and papers, or phoned her to tell her he wouldn't be able to make it on time. He should have told her to just go home and get some rest. Her face was looking a little hollow these days.

Parking, Booth slammed the door with a flutter of his coat.

The Lab was mostly dark when he arrived. The Platform was empty and Booth tiptoed past it, refraining from making any noise whatsoever. He breezed up the hall and stopped in front of Bones' office.

There was a soft light on inside, coming from the corner of the room; Booth could see through the half open blinds which cast strange patterns of shadows on the linoleum at his feet. Nothing was moving.

He inched the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

Her desk was neat and organized, as usual. Piles of papers and stacks of folders and her note pad were arranged in an orderly fashion so she could find everything she needed almost instantly. Her computer screen was off and Booth couldn't hear the soft hum of the machine, so she must have turned it off.

Booth's chest tightened as he turned. His eyes crinkled happily and a small smile eased its way up onto his face.

There she was, curled up on her couch fast asleep.

He hadn't realized how much he was looking forward to resurrecting their after-case rituals; when there's no more stress and everyone's happy and putting it behind themselves. He and Bones go for dinner, but it's not like every other time they go out to eat; it's happy and light and carefree. More like friends, and less like partners. He gets pie, she swipes his whipped cream. They drink lots of coffee and he drops her off at her place, happy and tired and able to sleep properly.

He had missed out on all that tonight. And it just wouldn't be the same tomorrow night.

Booth stepped closer to her calm form. Her laptop was on the coffee table beside her, closed and also turned off. Her neat stack of paperwork was tucked into a folder with oh-so-familiar writing on it, labelled 'Booth'. On the floor beside her, there was a dog-eared copy of some anthropology magazine; it was well-loved.

Her knees were up and she had thrown the brown blanket from the back of the couch over herself. Her head rested soundly against the back of the sofa and her hands were drawn up with a wad of blanket under her chin. The coffee mug he had given her a few weeks ago was wedged between her and the back of the seat, the picture of him and her leaving the lab rested against her palm; Their heads were cradled by the curve between her thumb and index finger.

Booth stretched and peered into it.

There was still coffee in there. Trust Bones to make a whole new pot and take three sips before falling asleep.

She was breathing softly, and the coffee barely moved. There was a strand of hair that moved with the air expelled from her lungs and Booth reached to tuck it behind her ear softly. When she was sleeping, her face was less drawn; she needed more sleep.

"Bones?" Booth called softly, breaking the silence.

Booth jumped as Bones jumped, startled out of her nap. He made a mad swipe for the coffee before she dumped it everywhere out of confusion.

"Oh, Booth. You're here," her sleep-rasped voice crackled.

"Yeah, Bones. I'm here." He placed the mug on the table and sat down beside it facing her, his voice like honey compared to hers. "I'm sorry I didn't call. Cullen called an emergency meeting on the case and it turned into a gong show."

Bones sat up and swung her legs down, stretching.

"I thought it might have been something like that. It isn't like you to not call." She smoothed a poufy spot of her hair down with her palm.

Booth frowned.

"Why didn't you go home, Bones? I know you're tired."

Bones blinked up at him, watching him fiddle with his tie nervously.

"You said you would be here. I knew you would get here eventually. Besides, we finished a case and we always celebrate," she stated, matter-of-fact. She blinked more sleep from her eyes and gave him a small smile. "I couldn't let that slide away."

"_Slip_, Bones. Slip away."

"Yes, of course." She stood and folded the blanket over the back of the couch again. "Come on, Booth. Let's go."

Booth snorted and retrieved her jacket or her.

"Where?"

"Well, I made pie last night. And you haven't had pie. Isn't that some sort of cosmic impossibility? Won't that throw off the entire universe, because your gut is out of whack? Catastrophic events may take place in the next few hours and I, being an upstanding scientist with multiple doctorates, simply cannot let chaos ensue if I can help it. Utter-"

"You made _pie_?"

Brennan grinned and slid her arms into her coat with Booth's help.

"Why didn't you say so? What are we still doing here? Let's _go_, Bones!"

He ushered her out of her office with hand on her back.

"Why did you make pie?"

"Well, you said my macaroni was good. I decided to try something else. And I know you like pie. You would be an excellent judge. You'll have to tell me if I did something wrong. It may take a few tries to get right-"

"I call dibs on tester."

Their voices were fading, leaving shadows and chrome-plated machinery in silence.

"Dibs, Booth?"

"Yeah. Like, I get to try all of the bad ones."

"The bad ones? You think I won't make a good apple pie?"

"No, Bones. I just mean I get to eat all the pie before we deem one _perfect_."

* * *

**Okay, guys.**

**I'm really sorry no GG has been posted. But I'm fighting an epic battle with writer's block. I HAVE started the next chapter, just so you know. t's only a matter of time. Within the next week? I think so. I've had less time to write because of my two jobs, so please, don't be too upset. I'd write all the time if I could.**

**This is a sort of companion to Missing Piece, just another moment between them.**

**Anyways, let me know what you thought. c:**


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